


The Stone Angel

by louisewhofan



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock - Fandom, Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Multi, Superwholock, Weeping Angels - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 22:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12851229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisewhofan/pseuds/louisewhofan
Summary: After his brother went missing and his angel zaps him into the past, Dean finds himself on the doorsteps of none other than Jackie Tyler.Almost seconds after Cas is trapped Chuck knows where.And all of them are looking for each other whilst fate seems to have other ideas.Then again Dean never really believed in fate...





	1. Prologue

John if I were to tell you there were creatures from another world, would you believe me?"  
"There are so many planets out there. I would be surprised if there weren't."  
"But what about right on our doorstep?"  
"No- there can't be. We'd know."  
"Maybe we do..."  
Dean stood on an empty road his 1967 Chevy Impala was parked on the curb, its black bonnet reflecting the moonlight back into the sky. And what a sky it was. Tonight it wasnt just black. The sun had only just set and so violets and cobalt blue faded and blurred like a watercolour. The wind was gentle but it was enough to make Deans hair gently dance in the breeze. And the stars burned white like jewels.  
He stood there with his hands in his pockets and a look of worry across his face. There was a flutter and Castiel appeared facing him, his long trench coat blowing in the breeze which had suddenly picked up at his arrival. Dean felt goose bumps appear on his arms.  
" Dean, there's something I have to tell you." Castiel said. "We haven't much time." He looked behind himself in panic. "The Lamenta angels are after me." Although alarm still fell across his face there was a look of sadness also. "I don't think I'll be able to see you or Sam for a very long time. There were so many things I need to tell you too." His rough voice cracked and he smiled such a sad smile.  
"Wait hold on a minute. What the hell is a Lamenta angel and why haven't I heard of it?" Dean shouted, stepping angrily towards Castiel.  
"Dean." Castiel's hand reached up to touch his cheek, "I haven't got time, if they catch me the world will most likely end."  
Dean reached out for Castiel also but Castiel pulled away. His eyes glazed over and a tear welled up in the corner of is eye. ?Cas, you cant go. We need you. I need you."  
"No Dean, you drive as far away from hear as you possibly can and dont try to contact me because I will not answer... I cant answer." Castiel's eyes widened. "I'm sorry Dean." Castiel reached up and pressed his finger against Deans forehead. And He vanished.  
A millisecond later Castiel blinked out of existence his skin slowly turning grey.  
An on that empty motor way that appeared to be endless, with the low rumbling sound of the engine that had been left on. A winged smiling creature, with razor sharp teeth pointed like fangs, was left there, its hand outstretched. And the air grew still, and the clouds drew in and on that day everything changed...


	2. Chapter 1

Dean awoke on a soft bed with dark pink sheets, his eyes were sore and his back twinged, he reached for it in pain, pulling the bed sheets with him. They fell to the floor like a ribbon running through someone's fingers. After groggily opening his eyes, although blurred, he noticed a blonde woman in her mid forties, with heavy, blue eye makeup, and a pink jogging jacket, and a strange look, like she was eyeing him up, but there was something kind about her also.  
"Mornin' sleepy head." Her voice had a heavy London accent.   
"Where am I?" Dean asked sleepily.  
She smiled, "You must have had a lot to drink last night if you don't know. You're in the Powell Estate in London."  
Dean looked down, alarm flew over him. "Why is my top off, we didn't did we?"  
"No you plonker, you collapsed on my doorstep last night and it was raining heavily. You're lucky I heard you, otherwise you could have got hyperthermia." She laughed a little.  
"Well in that case thank you, but what date is it?"  
"The fifth of November, two thousand and six." She smiled again with a look of amusement. "How much did you drink?"  
Dean looked down thoughtfully. "No that can't be right I was in 2010."  
Surprise came across her face and she leaned down close to Dean's face. "You're not a- you know...  
"No I don't please enlighten me."  
"... A time lord." She coughed to cover up that she had even said it.  
"-What? No! Do I look like some pompous aristocrat of time or whatever?" He shouted  
"Well no but neither does he." She turned. "I need to call Rose."  
She walked out leaving Dean by himself. He got out of bed and pulled up his tshirt from the back of the chair. It had been neatly folded. He pulled it on and got up to look in the mirror, the mirror was dusty like it had been left alone for a long time but everything in this room was neat and had a place. There were pictures on a cork notice board of the woman and a younger girl who looked a lot like her- she was pretty. Looking round he began to notice more and more things that appeared to belong to the girl, such as notebooks pencils and a wardrobe with clothes squeezing through the gap. It had to be the girl's room, but why was he sleeping in here and where was she?   
After running his fingers through his matted hair, he decided he looked presentable and with a shrug he stepped out the bedroom into a small living room where the woman had a white, large landline phone pressed to her ear.  
"Rose? It's me, I know I wouldn't usually call but there's a problem... no I didn't break the TV... what no!" her voice became irritated. "Will you listen Rose Tyler! Now let me explain. A man appeared on my doorstep last night, he looked pretty out of it and he was soaked through, poor thing, but anyway I was going to send him on his way this morning but he said something you might be interested." She paused. "He said he was from 2010, the future..." her tone changed back to her usual chirpy voice "So you tell that Doctor of yours to get his TARDIS over here and give me some help... yes love you too, see you in a bit." The line went dead and she placed the phone back into the holder.  
Dean coughed a little and the woman spun around flustered. "You know I never actually asked your name." Dean asked with a killer smile.   
"It's Jackie, Jackie Tyler."  
"Nice to meet you Jackie Tyler, now who is this Doctor you mentioned?" He asked inquisitively.  
"You'll find out soon enough, he's on his way. You see it's a little difficult to explain without people thinking you're mad."  
Dean snorted. "Yeah I have that problem too." He placed himself on the armrest of the sofa placing his hands on his lap. "But at the moment the only thing I need is a way of getting home. You see I have this friend, well he's a bit more than a friend- I can't really put my finger on it, but I care about him, and he needs my help." He looked up into Jackie's eyes, there were soreness around his and a tear managed to work its self up to the surface. "It's just I don't know where Castiel is and-" Dean swallowed heavily clasping his hand over his face and wiping away the tear that had begun to fall. "I'm sorry, it's just I don't know what to do Jackie and if this doctor can help in anyway, then I'm going to use him." A small sob like noise came from his lips. "That may be wrong but I have no choice."  
Jackie looked down at him in a motherly way. But it was filled with sadness and pity. "Shhh..." She said gently. "Come here..." she opened up her arms to him, and he fell into them willingly crying softly, like a child who didn't want to be found. "It'll be okay, just you wait."   
Dean looked up at her his eyes still red. "You were waiting for an opportunity like this weren't you?" He laughed a little at his terrible joke in embarrassment.  
In the silence a low wheezing sound began to echo around the room, a newspaper that was resting on a glass table top began to flutter and pages twirled into the air like confetti flowing in the breeze, the wheezing sound grew louder and a warm yellow light began to blink in and out of existence. Then after that the body of a 1920's police box landed with a heavy thud on the ground, a law twang echoed around the room like a lonely guitar string being plucked and it stood there like a monument that was until a blonde haired girl stuck her head around a creaking blue door. "Mum!" she cried happily and flung the door open fully before running into her arms. Jackie held her tightly mumbling about how she never called anymore. The girls brown eyes then looked kindly up "Are you the guy I've been told about," Her voice had a heavy London accent like her mothers. "What's your name?" she put one hand in her back pocket of her dark blue jeans the other one was outstretched waiting for Dean to shake it.  
Dean stood there hesitantly but reached out and shock it anyway, "I'm Dean" he said with a showy smile.   
"Nice to meet you Dean, now what exactly is your problem" she looked into the gold glowing space in the box before turning to face Dean again.  
"Well you see I've lost a friend, I'm in a different time zone, and my brother is God knows where but he sends me a text every few days to tell me he's alright." He gasped catching his breath after almost spitting out that sentence. "So everything is funky town." Sarcasm seeped through his voice.  
She looked at him her eyebrows raised. "Yeah, I can see that, when's the last time you had a proper night's sleep?" she looked carefully under his eyes which appeared to be delicate and blue almost to the point where they appeared bruised.  
He looked down embarrassed, "Not for a long time." He sighed. "Unless you count me being zapped into the past and falling unconscious."   
She laughed a little, "Maybe you should get some rest before we start the big quest of yours, but first-"she stuck her head around the police box doors. "Oi Doctor, get over here!"  
There was some shuffling before a man stepped out with wires glowing turquoise hanging around his neck and black rectangular glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He stuck his hand out. "Hello I'm The Doctor." His voice was similar to something known as BBC English, the kind of voice where you wouldn't know what part of the country he was from. But Dean could sense there was something not quiet human about him. Dean extended his hand. "Which is it then, angel or demon?"  
There was a slight look of confusion across his face until he opened his mouth, "neither actually." He pulled his hand back.   
"So are you some kind of witch or psychic?"  
"I'm sorry Dean I am don't know what those things are, I'm an alien, well I do know what, but I didn't know they existed..." He trailed off and looked down with his eyebrows furrowed. "I think I know what's happened here." He looked up into Deans eyes apologetically. "I'm sorry Dean but its going to be a lot harder to get you back than I first expected."  
"...wait what? You're an Alien?"   
Rose giggled at him quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

The room was cold, so cold. It was like a tombstone had trapped him in and began to suck his soul slowly from his body. But that's what those places usually did to Castiel- make him sad.   
At first he was blind there was no way to tell where he was, but his arms were numb and hung limply in the air. He had been chained up. There was a sound like stones being ground, it was painful to hear and made the hairs on his neck stand on end like a cat defending itself. He gritted his teeth. A claw reached out and touched his chest. It was gentle at first like sand blowing against him but five points began to slowly press harder as though they were becoming frustrated and it felt as though gravel was being pressed in a wound.  
Castiel bit his lip harshly trying not to call out, they could do what they wanted even if Castiel gave in they couldn't get it. Only one thing had to be forced to work in the dark and as his eyes slowly improved he looked into its eyes. So flat, dull, grey and lifeless. "I know what you are." He stated his voice course. The face stared back blankly and unmoving as another creature attempted to move in and try a similar thing from behind. Castiel cried out as the claws pierced his skin. And the creature continued to look in his eyes.  
He looked in its eyes...  
The Doctor looked at Dean and asked him to sit down. He did so with reluctance. The old leather chair engulfed him as he didn't anticipate how far he'd sink. He repositioned himself so that he sat up right. "Am I going to need a drink?" He asked worriedly. "You know some kind of whiskey?"  
"I don't think that would be wise." The Doctor said calmly. Sitting opposite Dean on the edge of the coffee table.   
"I can do some hot sweet tea," Jackie suggested. "Calms the nerves much more than alcohol in my opinion."  
The Doctor smiled. "That would be lovely Jackie." Rose looked up at her mum as she left the room to make tea, before returning to face Dean and The Doctor.   
The Doctor looked sad. His glasses had been removed and his lips were turned down. Only slightly but it was enough to make her worry. It was the kind of look only given when you pity another.  
There was a slight hiss from the kettle which brought The Doctor back into life. "Now what I'm about to tell you may scare you more than you're used to already but there's one thing I want to check first," he paused almost for dramatic effect. "Do you know how you may have got here?"  
"Well I think I know how it happened, but I don't know why." Dean ran his fingers through his hair causing it to spike in all directions like uncut grass. "It was Castiel, that much I'm certain."  
"How do you know?" The Doctor asked quizzically.  
He sighed. "Well, he touched my forehead and now I'm here, and it's not the first time he's pulled a stunt like this."   
"How can he?"  
"Well he isn't exactly what you'd call human. He's an angel. And well he's sent me back to see my dad just so I could find out the facts, and other times after that. The thing is he always has a reason for sending me. And here I just don't understand. This place? For what purpose am I here?" Dean rambled.  
"An accident?" Rose suggested. Raising her head back so that her hair cascaded away from her face like a silk curtain. The Doctor watched mesmerized for a moment.  
He coughed a little. "No, impossible." He turned back and looked Dean in the eyes. His elbows resting on his brown pinstripe trousers, hands clasped together. "Dean, he didn't just send you back in time, I think you're in a parallel universe." He leant in closer. "And from what I can gather, just sending you back in time would use up a lot of energy."  
He looked shocked for a while but as realization hit him, Dean's face grew calmer. "I think I get that. To be in either of our line of work and to not have met, in my case an alien, seems impossible. You would have at least seen a ghost or something'." Although he tried to create a persona of someone who could adjust easily. The Doctor could hear vibrations from the shaking of his voice, only just detectable.  
"We thought we met a ghost, one time, but it turns out they were these creatures called the Gelth who were trying to get through a tear in time." Rose mentioned, to confirm what Dean was theorizing.  
"You see what I mean!" Dean exaggerated. Before taking the tea that was set down beside him just moments before and drinking it as though it were some kind of alcohol. "Careful it's hot." Jackie warned him. And all of a sudden as though those words had triggered it. Dean felt a harsh burning sensation going through his throat and laying as a pool at the bottom of his empty stomach. He looked up at Jackie with a slight look of pain. "Yeah, thanks for the warning."  
He placed the empty cup back on the coffee table with a dull thud.  
"So how do I get back?" He asked expectantly.  
"Well that's the thing. The Doctor sighed. "You don't. Not yet anyway. You've been sent here for a reason, like the times before and I don't think you can come back until you complete the task."  
"What task?" Dean exasperated. "I don't even know where to begin?"  
"Well then." Jackie answered knowledgeably. "You wait. You wait until something happens."  
"Here's my number." Rose said as she scrawled on a piece of paper before passing it to him. "If or when something happens. You call this number. And we'll be there."  
"Err, thanks." Dean said. "Are you going somewhere?"   
Rose reached round his shoulders and pulled him in. "Places to see. Civilizations to save. And a whole lot of running." And with that Rose ran up to her mum hugging her tightly before practically falling through the blue boxes doors.  
"You look after her Doctor, do you hear." Jackie said sternly.   
The Doctor turned around to face her, and raised his hand up to a salute before pressing the doors shut gently behind him.  
The wheezing and groaning of the box echoed throughout the room as it slowly faded out of existence.  
There was an awkward pause, and then Jackie said. "Right, if you're going to stay here for a while- you need to earn your keep. You can start by fixing the fridge."  
Dean was confused. Did his life just turn mundane?


	4. Chapter 4

Dean had been in London for about a month now. Doing nothing. Completely stuck. He'd been unable to do anything for Cas and it was killing him.  
Behind the curtain of helping Jackie with DIY and shopping, He'd been searching for clues, looking for some kind of job. But this world was so quite- so dull. The worst he had heard was that Mrs. Claire, from down the road, had an affair with the local postman. And how does he know this? Well he could hear it through the walls as he lay awake at night on a bed that was strange. He decided it was the pink striped bed sheets. Man, he was turning into a girl with all of his emotional episodes.  
As he came into the living room with the look of a sleep deprived zombie, his hair in clumps and dark circles so deep they looked like cliff edges. Jackie looked at him with the obvious question, "You heard it too, huh?" She said before blowing gently on a cup of tea and letting condensation drift up.   
"Yeah... He stated like a vacant echo.  
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Rose called last night she said she was on earth but a different time of course. Apparently they were watching dinosaurs." She smiled warmly whenever she talked about Rose. It was the same expression a parent usually gives when they'd talk about a lost loved one. But Dean decided not to mention it.  
"So any news about, how I can get back?" He tried hopefully.  
"No I'm sorry"  
"Its okay I didn't really expect there to be." It was the same thing every time Rose did decide to call- it was so painful, the slow path. "I'm going to take a walk" he muttered.  
"Dean!" Jackie called behind him.  
"Yeah?"   
She looked down. "Trousers?"   
"Oh, thanks." He blushed like a teenager. And then ran into the bedroom.  
He pulled on his jeans that lay as a puddle on his floor. Then he reached for his brown leather walking boots. They were old but had lasted him for a long time. The only giveaways were the worn sole and deep creases around the ankles. He laced them tightly. Almost too tight, he felt his circulation restricted. The veins beneath his skin and shoes began to throb. But he couldn't be bothered to retie them and so he walked out of the bedroom through the cream living room and out the front door.  
The thing Dean found odd about the Powell estate was that everything was so grey and tightly packed it was hard not to see it as though it were a black and white film inside an old square TV box. That was until he saw the splash of human life.   
Brightly coloured t-shirts' hung across balconies like a display of flags from a fairground. The warm yellow light the soaked into the walls creating the feeling of warmth. The buzz from radios' and television sets like white noise in the background. And the graffiti. The stupid incoherent lettering of a teenager telling the world he was here, even though in just a few years no one would know that name at all. But it was there and it wouldn't be the same without it because it showed the risk and the adrenaline of a person, just to leave their mark. Just to prove they exist.   
He grew optimistic; maybe that kid would be remembered.  
And it kind of showed that despite society's attempts, you can't wash out proof of people's existence so much so he could feel human life pulsating through his feet.  
But maybe it was just the shoes.  
He walked further along until he reach some old chipped concrete steps and began to walk quickly down them, speeding up the closer he got to the bottom. For some reason he could never slow himself down to the point where he lurched off the final steps and had to stumble to a halt.   
Looking up and spotted the park. Almost automatically he began to head towards the only green part of the entire estate. Walking along a disintegrating tarmac path, where with every step you could feel something press against the sole of your shoe. He reached a gate. It was old and rusted but rather than pay for a new one, they saved money by repainting it over and over.  
It creaked open slowly, the kind of sensation similar to which when you accidently graze your teeth over a wooden ice lolly stick, and it made him shiver.  
He stepped through and pressed it shut quickly, trying to avoid the same feeling, but therefore causing it to bang shut loudly. He walked hurriedly along.  
"Hey Dean." A woman called. Dean swiveled his head around suddenly. Over there was Mrs. Claire pushing her daughter on a swing. "Sorry about the noise last night. You probably heard everything didn't you?"  
"Err, yes, yes I did." He smiled at her. "It's fine though, it was only one night and its all sorted now, I hope." He added for good measure.  
"Yes actually, me and my husband have decided to split up- its for the best really." She bit her lip seductively, looking intently at Dean. He realized straight away what was happening. "Right, I'll be off then." He nodded at her and began to walk on.   
Spotting the old oak tree, he decided it would be a nice place to relax, whilst the sun was out, for the first time in a while actually."   
He walked so calmly there was almost a slight drunkenness in his step, and sat himself down in the opposite direction of the sun. He began to close his eyes watching the clouds, the birds, and the green grass sway gently in the breeze, the blue sky and the blue box and began to drift into a sleep.  
Wait. what?   
Deans eyes shot open, and the blue box continued to loom over him. Hiding in the shadows of a corner. He got up grazing his back against the tree bark. It tingled a little before feeling like hundreds of pin pricks going in and out of him. This didn't make sense.  
He watched as the door opened slowly, as though he was scared, not of the place, but of coming back. The Doctor stepped out keeping the box's door pressed tightly against his back as he closed it.  
He stepped out of the shadow and into the light.  
His voice was dull and toneless. "Hello Dean." He spoke.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock sighed sinking into his dark green leather chair. His eyes were closed, his breathing was shallow. And rather than wearing his deep blue silk dressing gown he wore a smart black suit, with a deep purple shirt. His hands were poised.   
Footsteps could be heard, a slow heavy thud of a tall man possibly 6" 5"- no wait. 6" 4". He had miscalculated. The man reached the top step and halted. Sherlock detected the smell of dirt and mud mingling with the smell of his flat. My he had traveled a long way.  
Sherlock gestured with his arm and pointed towards an old, oak chair. It was small- most likely too small for this man. "Please, sit." He said calmly, his eyes still closed.  
"Erm, thanks." His pace quickened and then he stopped and placed himself gently on the chair.  
Sherlock breathed in deeply, still not looking, his hands still. But his eyebrows still showed expression, arching slightly as though he was looking at his client. "Oh, you're from Kansas. I wasn't expecting that, but from the distortion in your accent I'm guessing you moved around a lot from a young age."  
The man sat there, not saying a word whilst Sherlock spoke. "And I bet you're wondering how I know that, but this was one of my simpler deductions. Accents are usually resigned to the place you grow up." He smiled a little enjoying the puzzle. They're slight crinkles in the corner of his mouth as he did so.  
"I can also tell that you have an older brother who is brash and often unaware of consequences and so you try to compensate for him, hence the politeness of waiting to be asked if you would sit down." His eyebrows furrowed together almost a little angrily. "But what I didn't understand was why you had been following me for the past three days that was until I realized as you were coming up those steps. No one walks slowly like that unless they were sneaking in, not wanting to be heard. And no one comes into a home without ringing a door bell or knocking unless they were here to steal something." Sherlock's speech pattern changed getting louder and quicker as if to reach the end as soon as possible.  
"And?" The man spoke.  
"And, your plans changed when you reached the top of the stairs and saw me sitting in this chair. Hence the pause at the edge of the door frames." Sherlock's eyes opened like a flash of light, his pale green eyes staring intently at the man as though he had been looking at him through his eye lids the entire time. "You have decided to become a client."   
There was a slight hissing sound, then a whistling noise before the sound of a click.  
"John? Is the tea done yet?" Sherlock called through the opaque doors into the kitchen.  
"Yeah, just hold on a minute- the kettle has only just boiled." The man through the door spoke to Sherlock as though he were dealing with an impatient child.  
The man on the chair however sat there a little awe struck.  
Sherlock turned to face him again. "Oh we knew you were coming. Why else would you follow me? It was just the purpose of your visit was yet to be decided."  
The man in the chair smiled. He had Longish brown hair and thin pale pink lips. His eyes too were green, but were mixed with flexes of hazelnut. Sherlock had estimated his height correctly.   
His clothes were well worn as the fabric around the stitching had faded and most creases in the brown canvas jacket were now there permanently suggesting rushed packing and that the clothes were often kept in bags. He wore denim jeans. All signs pointed to him being a farmer if it weren't for the faded scars littered around his face and the fresh cut on his neck. He couldn't figure it out. A fighter? maybe. But what fighter would seek help from him?  
"Okay, why are you here? Start from the beginning and try not to be boring." He stated as he watched john sit down opposite with a mug of tea in his hand. Two more sat on the table between them. One of them being a cup and saucer. He watched a slight tremor in the mans hand as he reached for the mug of tea.  
"Withdrawal?" He asked.  
"Kind of." He answered.   
Sherlock didn't press further.  
"So the beginning..." The man began. "For a start my name is Sam Winchester..."


	6. Chapter 6

"I was born in Kansas, and you're right I did move around a lot as a kid- do you want to know why?" He sniffed a little, a smirk plastered on his face.  
Sherlock asked sarcastically. "Oh please, do tell." He spoke exaggeratedly, a clear sign of someone being disinterested. He was playing him, despite being intrigued.   
"We were hunting." He laughed shallowly.  
Sherlock looked disappointed, the glint in his eyes faded. "oh." He said flatly. It made sense. He looked back up but the smile was still there. "Oh... You're not done yet. Are you." The light reappeared like a flickering candle.  
The brown haired man rested his forearms on his knees and leaned in gently- a dark shadow grew over his chest.  
John sighed before saying. "He wants you to ask what he was hunting."  
He nodded. And paused for dramatic effect leaving an eerie silence in the room.  
"Well?" Sherlock asked irritated and clearly agitated.  
"Monsters, Mr. Holmes..." His lips remained parted, his breathing shallow. Waiting for a response. A small amount of condensation could be seen escaping from open mouth.  
"Impossible." Was all Sherlock said.  
"Oh really, if you are this master of observation, which your friend so often writes, look at me and tell me I'm lying."   
The facts remained the same when Sherlock looked again, he scanned quickly before focusing in on his face. His eyes had kept contact with his, looking deeply into them. His body remained still despite the clear signs of withdrawal, and when he spoke his voice was calm as though it had been recorded for him in the mans bedroom. But most of all Sherlock's instinct was screaming that this man was telling the truth.  
"As impossible as it sounds, I believe he's telling the truth Sherlock- or at least he believes he does." John said to Sherlock adding the last part just in case.  
Sherlock twisted in his chair to face the man properly. Leaning forward also. His Green eyes piercing into Sam's, looking for any hint of lies. "I'm going to let you humor me for a moment, for now let's say that everything you told me is true. What brings you here?"  
"My brother."  
"Why, what's wrong with him?" He asked brashly.  
Sam sighed pulling his hands down his face, dragging it into a ghoulish figure, and letting it spring back. His face remained tired. "Something had been following him for weeks-"  
"You used had. Suggesting that they're not anymore" Sherlock interrupted.  
Rolling his eyes, Sam nodded. "I was going to finish my story first but I guess I'll cut to the chase. He's vanished."  
"I think I'm going to need to hear the rest of the story." He said leaning back into his dark green leather chair.  
"I think you can probably guess, Mr. Holmes, but I'm going through, what you would call, one of the first stages of withdrawal." Apart from the shaking of his hands, Sherlock noticed red rims around his eyes, which were slightly yellowed and bloodshot, like a fraying red web reaching in from the deep stretches' of the backs of his eyes. His skin was also pastel in colour, washed out and uneven.  
"Yes." Sherlock said. "Which is why it's odd, I find you here in London. On a case. Wouldn't you be better off in bed with a watchful eye on you?"  
"I was, practically imprisoned, for my own good. But, I-" he felt disinclined to continue.   
"Well, out with it!" Sherlock asked eagerly.  
"I started hallucinating, all kinds of things. Things ,that, felt so real." Sherlock could almost hear a sob coming from him. "But there was one thing I could not shake from. There was a frozen figure always standing behind my brother watching him. Whenever he came to check on me, it'd be there. Just watching." He groaned a little, as though the memory was hurting him. Scrunching his eyes tightly closed. "I couldn't tell him though. My brother would think it was just my imagination, so I did what I had to do. I got out and decided to hunt whatever the hell it was."  
"How did you track it? Obviously it must have tried to stay hidden." Sherlock asked, intrigued.  
"Wherever it went it lead a rough trail of disappearances in its wake." He looked up to make sure Sherlock was still paying attention. And to his surprise his pale green eyes were watching him intently. "It was easy enough to track it; it was just finding it once I got there that was the trouble."   
Sherlock gasped. "Let me guess, it became so bad you ended up tracking it all across America, then Europe, until you found yourself here." He smiled almost a little arrogantly. "And you needed information on all the latest disappearances, so rather than turning to the police. You went for a consulting detective. That's me by the way. Hello." He gave a little wave. Wagging his fingers the way a dog wags his tail.  
"It wasn't difficult to find you, thanks to your friend's blog."  
"You're welcome, by the way." John said gruffly.  
Sherlock smiled again. "You had figured that it would be easier to break into an apartment than a police station." he pressed his hands firmly together resting them on his chin. "But why observe for so long. You had multiple opportunities, I made sure of that."  
"I was only considering it" Sam said apologetically. "That was before my brother vanished off the face of the earth."  
"How did you know if you were all the way in London?  
"He'd send me texts and leave voicemails everyday for a month, until one day they just stopped and they didn't start again. And I've heard nothing from Cas."  
"Who is Cas?"  
"A friend." He didn't tell Sherlock the part about Cas being an angel. He had a feeling Sherlock wouldn't be able to deal with it. He looked like the kind of person who had a bit of a God complex.  
"You're not telling me everything, but I get the idea." Sherlock languished in this new unknown territory he had been forced into. "You want me to find the missing persons in the hope-"  
"-I find my brother, yes" He bit his lip worriedly. "I don't have a lot of money."  
"Yes." He drew out. "I noticed that when you walked in." He smiled gleefully at Sam. "But you must know, I don't take cases for the reward, only for answers."  
He looked at Sherlock optimistically. "So you'll take it?"  
"Of course." Sherlock jumped up like an excited puppy. "Come on John. The game is on!" Sherlock picked up his black trench coat from behind the door, and spun it round, like an opening fan, before letting it drop down, deflating. John followed in toe, with a similar expression, only toned down rather considerably. And they exited the apartment together, the door slamming shut behind them.  
Sam was left in an empty room, with no sound but the echoing wind slamming against the window.  
-that was until, a buzzing sound was coming from his pocket. He picked up his phone. "Ruby? Where have you been? I need it... Yes I understand. Look, I think I found a seal. It looks like a big one. Are you in London yet?  
Good."


	7. Chapter 7

"Doc, what the hell are you doing back here so late? I've been waiting here for over a month!" Dean shouted angrily. And then he stopped noticing the dark heavy glare emanating for The Doctor's eyes. He looked passed The Doctor, waiting for Rose to appear any moment with a bright smile.  
"Doctor? Where is Rose?" He questioned worriedly.  
"Gone."  
"Wait, what? Gone?... What happened to her?" Dean asked softly.  
He bit his lip lightly, he was thinking of an answer but there were no words to explain what had happened. He felt like the whole reality he had known had disappeared with a blink. As though this persona he had created, for her, was fake and that now she was gone it was just like before... before he changed for the better. "She's gone home." The words came out of him like a whisper, as though a thread of his soul had been pulled from his parted lips. He was giving up.   
But when he looked up into Dean's desperate eyes, the way they dark circles hung causing them to become bright, and pleading. He knew that he needed to do one last thing. For her. "Rose is gone and she can't come back. But I'm going to do one last thing for you because I made a promise. But after that I'm done." His voice solemn and dark and scared.   
"What are you going to do then, go back and live on cloud...? On your own." Dean became so worried, this was not the same man he met a month ago. He was aphotic.   
"I'm just tired Dean." He rubbed his face with his hand, as though he were trying to wake himself from dream- stretching the skin on his jaw.  
Dean felt a pang of anger build up inside him. "I know that sentence. I use that sentence. You're done aren't you Doctor. Not tired. You're angry at the world because things aren't going your way. And I don't know about aliens and that kind of crap but if your needed half as much as we are. The world will fall into chaos." He stepped forward and glared deeply at him as though he could see his thoughts bleed through his eyes. "You're going to become an omniscient God who doesn't give a rat's ass about us. And trust me I know what they're like and you don't want to become that." Dean grabbed The Doctor's face and pulled it up so he would look directly at him.   
And there was something about those large brown eyes that had lost the spark and energy of a young man. His eyes had become much older. "I'm so old now Dean, so, so old. Older than you could possibly imagine. Don't you think I've helped enough."  
"Oh cut the crap Doc! I'll tell you something. My Friend Cas has been at it much longer than you. Try the beginning of the universe. He has seen so much and lost so many brothers and sisters. He rebelled and lost everything. But I tell you what. No matter how far away he is and how lonely he always comes to help when asked." His chest started to rise and fall heavily as though he was using everything in his lungs to make this speech. "And now he's lost and I'm asking you to do this for me. Keep fighting. Just keep fighting. Because I need you and the way you are now won't be any use at all."  
Dean watched as The Doctor's eyes glazed over and redden and he saw a tear build in the corner of his eye and fall down his cheek. "You're being selfish Dean." He said like a whisper of a ghost.  
Dean stumbled back a little at this remark. He swallowed. "I know." He choked. "Oh God, I know."  
The sun fell behind a cloud and the light breeze grew still. But the silver linings of the clouds shone eerily against the pale skin of The Doctor, as though they were waiting for a response. "I understand Dean. I really do. But this is all I can do for now." He answered finally. "I know where your friend is. But it's going to be difficult to get him back. We're going to have to sneak behind enemy lines to get him back."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I mean we're going to have to get past the front lines of a war. A storm is coming Dean. It's been brewing for months and we're not allowed to stop it."  
"Why not?"   
"Because interference in my own time line is strictly forbidden. And what we're going to do is cutting it really close." He pressed his thumb and finger firmly together as an example.  
"What happened?"  
"There were these ghosts, that appeared, well will appear in an hour's time. And they will bring about destruction and death as these ghosts are not really ghosts at all. They're cyberman. But how they got through was a whole other ball game. Because the creatures that have caused misery and annihilation of my entire planet and many after. The creatures I have tried to destroy time and time again. Ripped a hole through the void and start a war on earth with the Cyberman. But that's not the most important thing because if you want to save your friend we are going to need to go into the void and drag him back. I'm not sure who took him but I heard his voice as the cracks were pulled open. He was in pain Dean. A lot of pain. Whoever is in there is ripping him apart to get something out of him."  
"Do you think it was these cyberman?" Dean asked.   
"No." He said certainly. "The Cybermen just saw an opportunity when The Daleks broke through."  
"How about the Daleks."  
"It's possible. But I hope they aren't. Because if it is them we may not survive." The Doctor looked scared, however there was a look of vengeance in his eyes. A look of recklessness.   
"Is there any other possibilities?"   
"I don't know..." He trailed trying to think of any other possibility. "But we need to head there soon. We don't have much time."  
Dean looked up at the flat "Can I say goodbye?"  
"I'm sorry but you've spoken to me now, there's a risk that speaking to Jackie could cause her to realise something and change future events." He paused for a moment looking towards the centre of London. "No. You're coming with me."  
"Are we going in the blue box?" Dean asked excitedly.  
"No. bringing her to Torchwood is a bad idea. She stays here. Hidden. The Doctor ran up to the box and flicked a switch behind the door. The Box disappeared in a way which would cause you to question whether it was really there at all. "Oh and she's called the TARDIS."  
"So we walk."  
"Yes we walk."  
The Doctor pocketed the TARDIS key and they began to walk away from the stretch of green. The small part of the Powell estate that was bright and colourful and head towards the tall spike of a building that loomed over London as though it were their lord and master. Or the omen of death that seemed to sit in the air like mist.  
And Jackie watched them walk away from the window of the living room expecting, that very soon something big was going to happen. The question was what?

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

"Someone else was here." Sherlock breathed in. "A woman." He looked confused. "Why was she here Sam?"  
"Ruby? Where have you been? I need it... Yes, I understand. Look, I think I found a seal. It looks like a big one. Are you in London yet?  
Good."  
"Hello Sam." Ruby smiled, her flowing dark brown hair, was brushed behind her ear. Sam could see her pulse beating down the vein in her neck, a low dull thud beating slowly. Enticing him in. He could feel his throat growing dry and the need for power swell up inside him.   
"Ruby." He managed to prise out of himself.  
She started to walk closer to him, her black high heel boots hitting the floor like a chisel. "So you think this is the final seal, do you Sam?"  
"Where were you Ruby?" He said, his breath becoming hitched. "I haven't seen you in weeks."  
She looked down at her feet shuffling slightly, then she raised her head endearingly, her large bambi like eyes stared deeply into his. "I've been fighting Sam; this war doesn't stop while you've been grounded by your bother."  
"Yeah I know, but I feel so weak, Ruby. Please."  
"Shh..." She placed the palm of her hand against Sam's cheek and stroked his jaw lightly. "I know it's been hard. But I'm here now. I understand." She cooed. She began to run her hand down her leg and reached for her knife. She lifted it up and with a sudden flash she had cut open her wrist and drops of red liquid began to build up as spheres before becoming too heavy. And a drop fell to the ground. Sam turned his head and placed his lips against her wrist...  
"What have you done Sam?" Sherlock demanded.   
"Nothing, I'm fine." He replied with a half empty smile.  
"Exactly." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "In the half an hour in which we were gone, your hands have stop shaking, the redness from under your eyes had gone and you seem calm and more arrogant." Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his finger tip against the collar of Sam's shirt. "And what is this?" He removed his finger and there on the tip was a drop of blood. "What kind of drug is this? I've never seen it before." He murmured. He began to bring his finger to his lips.  
"Don't!" Cried John and Sam simultaneously.  
"Sherlock. You don't know what that is. It could kill you." John said to Sherlock sternly.  
"It's blood John. See." He held out his finger and watched as his friend looked closely at it with furrowed eyebrows.  
"Yes. Yes, it is blood." He sniffed it a little.   
"But it doesn't smell like the same metallic tang, does it?" Sherlock said. "It smells like sulphur. Now I've looked into blood types and how long it takes blood to dry. Now your friend you've disinclined to mention should still be nearby."  
Sam snorted. "She'll be so far gone by now; you'll never get her."   
"Impossible." Sherlock argued. "This blood is only few minutes old."  
"You might be saying that word a lot more if you stay around me."  
"Sam, what the hell is wrong with you. Only a few minutes ago you needed our help and now you're treating us like we're enemies." John shouted slamming his right foot forward and looking up into his eyes.  
"It's called being high." Sherlock said simply to john.   
"I'm not high." Sam argued with an agitated look. "This stuff it gives me power. And I need it, I need to be strong enough."  
"John?"  
"Yes Sherlock?"  
"Tie him down."  
And with that John suddenly leapt into action, jumping up and pinning Sam down to the floor with a crash, his elbow pressed dangerously into his throat. Sam gasped for air, clawing at john's arms, his legs flailing out helplessly. "You need to know Sam; I was a soldier." He said through clenched teeth. "-An army doctor." Sherlock reminded him whilst he looked on his floor for something to tie Sam up with, luckily for him an incident with an American and Mrs Hudson meant there was rope conveniently left on the floor under his chair.   
"Yes but as I keep telling you, I had bad days." Sam began to reach for John's neck, but John slammed him down again harder. Sam's skin was beginning to go purple; his eyes watered- he was beginning to lose consciousness. "Quickly Sherlock, the rope!" John shouted.   
Sherlock threw it into the air as the rope began to unravel like a snake uncoiling to pounce, the front of the rope escaped John's grasp but he managed clasp the end of the tail and suddenly wrap it around Sam's waist. He released his hand from Sam's neck. The colour of his skin faded back into its normal tanned colour- if not a little pale. Sam spat on the ground choking raspy coughs, tears still streaming down his face. But his anger was evident. Sherlock gave John a worried glance, but he returned to face Sam with his usual icy stare. "I'm not letting you out like this Sam." He said looking towards his eyes which were filled with bitterness.  
"My brother is in danger, and you tie me up!" He spat. "Are you insane? We're running out of time!"   
"No I think you'll find that's you. If we can't find your friend- Ooh female is she?"  
"How did you know?"  
"Lip gloss stain around your mouth. Trust me Sam, she's using you." He said with slight mockery in his tone.   
John looked at him with concern in his face, the way he bit the inside of his mouth and his breathing had become heavy. "Look we're trying to help you and yes, I get it. It makes you feel strong and powerful, but it also makes you thick. You got taken out by a man half your size when before you were telling me how you managed to track the untraceable whilst you were clearly incredibly unwell."  
Sam breathed out heavily as though he were releasing his anger. Before nodding reluctantly. "How long do I have to stay here?"  
"We'll leave it until tomorrow and then we'll go out and look for him together." John replied. "But we're having breakfast first." John turned to face Sherlock. "That includes you."  
"I won't be hungry." He said stating what was clearly obvious to John.  
"And yet you'll still be eating." He said a little frustratedly. "You need to set a good example to Sam."  
Sam snorted yet again and began to laugh hysterically. "I'm sorry." He continued to giggle quietly. "You just remind me of a parent and child." He calmed a little. "I never expected you to be spoilt."  
"I'm not spoil- John am I spoilt?" He argued helplessly. "Stupid American." He muttered.  
"I heard that."  
John clapped his hands loudly. "Right everyone bed."  
"Err I'm still tied up in a chair." Sam replied.  
"And so you shall remain until I feel as though I can trust you." Sherlock retorted.  
"Sherlock! Untie him and tie him to the sofa instead. At least let him get some sleep." John scowled angrily at him.  
"Fine." Whilst still muttering under his breath Sherlock walked behind the chair and began to reach down to untie the ropes. He looked at them blankly. "John you didn't tie him up." Sherlock exclaimed.   
"No I just untied them and was waiting for a moment to escape. However, our little chat helped me change my mind." He smirked.  
"John get the hand cuffs out the salad drawer." Sherlock said pointing at the fridge.  
"What? You still don't trust me?" He said angrily.  
"Obviously not. You just proved that by untying yourself." Sherlock pointed at Sam as though he were pointing out a clue. His bottom fingers were slightly curled and he moved his arms with a slight flick of the wrist. His eyebrow arched.  
Sam got up and walked slowly to the sofa. He lay down on it, the leather squeaking and scraping, his feet hanging off the end of the arm rest. His height clearly meant that this was uncomfortable. And yet he still showed compliance by dropping his arm next to the post. John attached the handcuffs with two sudden clicks. Sam pulled his arm to show he wouldn't be getting out any time soon. And Sherlock nodded satisfied.   
"John and I found a clue. We'll go back to look at it tomorrow."  
Sherlock and John exited the room and left Sam alone with his thoughts, which was never a good thing at the moment.   
~1 hour earlier~  
"Right John we have a kidnapper to catch." Sherlock said walking out the room in a way that made his coat glide behind him in waves.  
"Sherlock do you really trust this guy?" John inquired.  
"No of course not. But we're going to find out when we get back." He smiled slightly the corners of his lips tugged up.  
"But you're going to help him anyway?" John joined in on the smiling.  
"Of course dear Watson, the game is very clearly on."  
"Yes you said that."  
"Shut up John."  
"Okay... No wait! Where are we going?" He cried halting to a stop.  
Sherlock spun round, pivoting on his toes, "Oh I didn't tell you. There's been another disappearance." He leaned in closer, smile growing. "And the best part is it's right around the corner.  
"In what way is that good, apart from the lack of distance we need to go?" John added with a humorous tone.  
"Well there is the fact we don't have to pay for the Taxi fair." There seemed to be this gleam coming off of him as he talked, the way he slightly moved his toes to the way each strand of hair moved around in the night air only just to be caught by the glow of the street lamps. Just faintly. He continued. "Is that we know that whatever was following Sam, has found him and is keeping watch."  
John looked a little concerned. "Does that mean we're involved now?"  
"Oh john we were involved as soon as he stepped into our apartment."  
He ventured forward heading in the direction, where all the street lamps seemed to stop dead, and the pathway seemed to draw in. "This way!" He called over to John who grumbled something and continued forward too- picking up pace slightly in order to catch up to Sherlock.  
"How did you find this out? I haven't seen any police cars yet."  
"Homeless network, they're a lot quicker than the police and they don't hide anything." Sherlock peered down at his watch. "I'd say we have around half an hour before the police find out."  
John scrunched his face up as though he was considering something very important. "If it's a disappearance how will the police know so soon?"  
"Because something's different this time. There's evidence."  
John scratched his hair line with his finger, "What like blood or something?"  
He chuckled lowly, "No, nothing like that. A car was left running outside the apartment. And from what the homeless network tells me, a witness swore the person vanished into thin air." His voice seemed to darken slightly at the mention of the idea of vanishing ghosts. "Ah just round this corner."  
As soon as they reached their destination it was clear to see why Sherlock believed they were being watched. From exactly where the low rumble of the car seemed to echo around the empty ally to twisting your head to look directly up; you could see through a small gap in houses a window, their window looking directly into 221 B. Sherlock could see the outline of Sam's figure hunched down and pacing the room. He had his hand to his ear- he was on the phone. But to who?  
"If the car engine is still on it must mean that whoever took them was in such a hurry." John exclaimed. Wondering how on earth someone moving that quick still didn't have time turn off the car. Because this was clearly a clue that led them one step closer.  
"Yes that must be it." Sherlock pondered. Not really believing it himself. Peering into the car window only to be greeted by a reflection of himself. Looking confused and frustrated. It angered him greatly. He glared at himself further.  
"Sherlock." John said.  
"Hmm.."  
"Sherlock!" He said a little more forcibly. "Someone else is in our apartment."  
"Can you make out who it is?" "No."  
"Me neither." He spun around and grabbed john's hand tightly. "We need to get back" Sherlock said trying to get a better look at a shadow. "fast." Urgency was evident.  
They ran ...


	9. Chapter 9

"So what is Canary Wharf?" Dean wondered. He knew it was a building but it never really seemed that significant to him. But then again, parallel dimensions.   
"Nothing really, well not to the people below, it's just a tall building... however there's a rift right at the top of it-"  
"-Wait, so are you telling me a rift conveniently opened up at the height of a building." Dean said a little sarcastically.   
"No of course not. That would be stupid. This group called Torchwood built Canary Wharf because of the rift." The doctor said thinking back a little, his eyes seemed to go empty for a moment as though he as remembering something.  
Dean sighed, not really understanding the logic of building something so big just for something that's always been there. "That's even more stupid."  
"That," said The Doctor pointing at Dean, "I completely agree with, because they were stupid and thought that they should try to make the crack in time bigger and that is what let the Cybermen in and..." His voice grew angrier as he spoke, as though he was bitter and then he stopped. "Sorry ignore me."  
"No I understand, you're angry with them aren't you? I'm guessing this has something to do with Rose..."  
"Stop Dean, I know you're just trying to help but stop, these are going to have to be two completely separate instances, I can't have... emotions like this if I need to save your friend." He said darkly, Dean decided to mentally note that this was a taboo subject.  
"Okay, sorry Doc." Dean looked at his boots childishly.  
"It's not your fault. Oh and Dean?"  
"Yes?"  
"It's Doctor, not Doc." He answered his smile returning as though it never went.   
They continued up the faded tarmac pavement until they reached a busy main road. "Although I said we couldn't take the TARDIS, it doesn't mean we can't take transport." The Doctor said grinning before placing his thumb and index finger in his mouth and whistling whilst holding the other hand in the air to hail a taxi. Out of nowhere one seemed to screech to a stop opposite their feet . "Can I help you boys?" An older man asked popping his head out of the taxi.  
"Oh yes, me and my friend here are trying to get to Canary Warf." The Doctor said.  
The man nodded as conformation to them that he knew how to get there, "Get in then." He said pointing with his thumb.  
Dean sat uncomfortably down in the leather seat unsure of these new surroundings, "Wow, these taxi's are a little posh aren't they." He shifted a little the leather squeaking as he did so.  
"Nah," The Doctor replied. "You get used to them very quickly, and start to notice that they're not as new as you once thought. See! Notice the mould creeping up the rubber seal on the window."  
Dean looked up to see the man glaring at him. "It's going to cost you ten pounds he said."   
"Right yes," The Doctor began checking his pockets worriedly. "Dean?" He tried.  
Dean rolled his eyes and fished through his wallet drawing out a crumpled ten pound note. "I'm very sorry." He told the old man.  
"Yeah, whatever- get out my taxi" He said snatching the note Dean's hand.   
They stumbled out the taxi with slight embarrassment, "right... Okay so how do we get in?"  
***  
Castiel was scared and alone, not because of what was in there with him, no this wasn't something physical. The thing that scared him most in this dark space was that time never seemed to pass and yet it was eternal, no light ever died and no light was ever created. Everything was stuck and everything was cold- Castiel was in a void.  
It was said that God had created space between dimensions to stop people accidently passing through and if anyone was stupid enough to try they'd be trapped here. Only angels could pass through so that they could watch over all of his creation; however, few rarely moved from the place they were assigned and over time many started to forget that they could, Castiel had begun to forget as well but being trapped in a place like this gives you time to think. But Castiel knew he couldn't stay here much longer. They were taking his grace, little by little and using it to escape this void, luckily for him however, they couldn't take it all...  
***  
"Hey Doctor let me handle this." Said Dean referring back to the taxi incident. "Hi," he said flashing a grin to a receptionist. Her face remained a set scowl. "Me and my friend here have an appointment with Mr.." Dean looked at the desk to see a name on a piece of paper. "Mr Adams!" He said.  
"Okay can I see some identification please, Mr?"  
"Page." He answered. "And my friend here is Dr Plant."   
"Okay Mr Page and Dr Plant can I see some identification." She said, her voice still monotone.  
"Okay the thing is sweetheart I just left my ID in the taxi." He tried smiling flirtatiously but the woman didn't even blush.   
"Then I can't let you in Sir, I'm sorry. "  
"I'm so sorry about my friend, he's so forgetful." The Doctor interrupted pulling out a black wallet from inside his jacket. "I have my identification here." He pushed Dean to the side a little. "And since I'm clearly me, it's safe to assume that he is who he says he is too."   
The woman leant forward in her chair the crows feet at the corner of her eyes crinkling as she went to read the blank piece of paper. "Oh I'm so sorry sir, please come in." She said bowing her head a little.  
"Quite alright." The Doctor replied striding through the security gate, Dean nodded and followed before swiping the wallet from The Doctor's grasp.   
"It's says you're the prime Minister's brother in law." Dean said a little shocked.  
"Psychic paper, I am who I say I am." He said taking back off Dean and slipping back into his pocket with a touch of feyness.  
"So where are we going?"  
"To the top." And the doors of the lift pinged open.


	10. Chapter 10

"Good morning boys!" Mrs Hudson happily called out after knocking on the front door. She waltzed into the living room put the tea down on the desk with a slight thud, looked over to the sofa to see Sam groggily begin to stir, she muttered something about what the boys have gotten themselves into this time and then hastily left again. The door slammed shut, which caused Sherlock to suddenly wake up shouting "What now!"  
Sam watched as the bedroom door opened and Sherlock stomped moodily to the table, his shoulders hunched and his face scowling. That was until he saw the tea. Almost automatically, he took the cup and saucer and sat down in his chair, his navy blue silk dressing gown fraying out around him. He sipped his tea silently. It had seemed that Sherlock had almost completely forgotten about Sam until he coughed hesitantly and said, "Mornin'" his voice still thick with sleep.   
"Oh, hello." He replied, he seemed a little surprised. "I thought perhaps you left."  
"Nope. Still here... Handcuffed to your sofa." He raised his arm a little letting the metal clank as it strained.  
"John!" Sherlock shouted whining a little. "John!" He shouted again.  
"What!" John replied in the same tone.  
"He's still here!"  
John became a little aggravated, "Well he would be handcuffed to a sofa and all!"  
"But I specifically left a paper clip out to see if he would escape. You spotted it didn't you or you wouldn't be worth my time." He said directing his conversation back at Sam.  
"I may have glimpsed it, but I meant what I said yesterday I need your help and I knew it was a test." He answered smugly. "That's good." Sherlock answered smoothly.  
"Wait you did what?" Demanded John storming into the living room.  
"You heard me."  
"But I thought the whole point was to try and keep him here?" John continued exasperated.  
"Ah that's where your wrong, if he truly needed us he would stay, like he did. But if he didn't and was just waiting for a chance to leave we would find out in the morning." Sherlock explained clearly proud of his little plan.  
"No way was I going to leave with you finding a clue and all." Sam smirked.  
"Ah yes the clue!" Sherlock said, his mood brightening a tad. He took another sip of tea. "The clue. The clue! The clue was... Nothing."  
"What?" Sam replied annoyed.  
"You see when we got there all we found was nothing, no blood, no footprints, no body and yet no sign of any struggle, the only odd thing, however, was the fact that the car was left running." Sherlock paused for a moment taking what he had just said and storing it away somewhere in his mind. "It would appear, Sam, that these victims really do vanish from thin air..."  
"So you believe me then?" Sam asked. "About the monsters."  
"There's still a high chance that you hallucinated the monsters and you coming here lead you to a series of unrelated missing persons cases. However on a balance of probability it's safe to say we're looking for the same kidnapper."  
"He means he believes that someone is taking them, but monsters are a little hard to believe." John interpreted.  
"That's good enough for now." Sam answered happily and with a warm smile.   
"Hey?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Is there any coffee around here?"  
"It's the third cupboard on your right," John answered knowing Sherlock wouldn't have a clue. Sam raised his handcuffed arm again, John nodded, "Right, yes Do you take sugar with your coffee?"  
"No." He replied shortly.  
"Okay..". He murmured. Reaching into the cupboard and pulling out a nearly full pot of coffee. It landed with a clunk on the table, the coffee grains scratching slightly. He then yanked open the drawer and pulled out a spoon.  
" Not keen coffee drinkers are we?" Sam stated his eyes landing on the jar.  
"How do you know it isn't a new jar?" Sherlock retorted childishly.  
"For a start?" Sam replied smugly. "The label's faded." Sherlock noticed Sam's voice got higher and his voice seemed to almost catch when he began the sentence.  
"Ooh he's good. John I may have to replace you." Sherlock said a little fondly.  
"Ha, yeah right. Who would make the tea?" John finished boiling the kettle and poured the water into the cup then topping it up with milk.  
Sam cringed slightly, knowing he would have only poured a little water in first, then adding the milk, before letting the water cool slightly before topping it up. But a lifetime of cheap diners and crap motels meant that he couldn't always get coffee his way, and often this was the least of his problems. "Sherlock would it be appropriate to uncuff me now since I have to drink?"  
"Untie yourself." Sherlock was keen to Sam's skills at unpicking locks. "Here." He passed him a paper clip.  
"Fine." He sighed pushing the paper clip into the lock and begun twisting , he bit his lip thoughtfully, pulling slightly odd facial expressions until at last ... He smiled. "There.' He breathed. " Are you happy?"  
"It would help if you made less facial expressions so the guy who tied you up is less likely to notice. But apart from that I'd say thou did well. John bring him his coffee so we can start talking about this case."  
"You know you could get out the chair and do your own work." John complained. "Any way what I want to know is why someone was stupid enough to leave the engine running, surely that would make someone suspicious as soon as they walked by?"  
"Good point John, maybe you're not fired just yet." Sherlock smiled warmly at him.  
"It's a good point you know," Sam added. "Any reasonable criminal would at least turn the car off so people such as neighbours wouldn't think anything was strange- it makes it seem that this thing doesn't understand normal human concepts." Sam added, emphasising the hint of the supernatural.  
John passed the coffee back to Sam, Sherlock noticed his hands start to shake slightly as the cup was passed to him, it was clear that whatever he took was already starting to wear off. "Thanks." Sam murmured into the cup. "Hmm, so when are we going to look for clues?"  
"All in good time, I think first we need to draw up what we already know and try to split the fact from the theory." Sherlock suddenly kept up grabbing a white pen from the desk and drawing the word 'disappearences' in large letters in the centre.  
He then wrote on one side the word 'FACT' in large uppercase before reverting back to his normal scrawling writing for the word 'theory'. Sharply, he drew a straight line down the centre of the wall.  
"So what are the facts.." Sherlock muttered to himself.  
"Well we know that everyone whose missing follow no pattern." Sam said.  
"Yes, but from what you described this kidnapper came from America."  
Sherlock wrote down 'no pattern' and 'source= America'.  
"We also know that the kidnappers leave no trace, but any appliance on at the time doesn't get switched off." Sherlock added a reformulation of this to the wall. "Well? Anything else?" He asked a little frustrated.  
"They're not human." Sam tried again.  
Sherlock added it to the theory side of the board. Not saying anything.  
"I think that's it." John said simply.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean stared at the brooding silver door that towered over him,  the metallic surface reflecting the fear in his eyes.  
"So are we getting in this thing?" Dean shifted awkwardly. "I'm not too trusting when it comes too..."  
The Doctor rolled his eyes, "Are you scared of lifts Dean?"  
Dean huffed, "What no! Definitely not- they're just not very safe are they?" He pondered, "Can we take the stairs instead?"  
"No I'm afraid not." The Doctor replied. "Theres a small chance we could have a run in with someone from the other timeline. We need to keep very separate in order to avoid a paradox, that's the last thing we need." He added darkly.  
Dean raised his eyebrow, his face pulled into a look of confusion. "A para-what?"  
"A paradox. To put it simply if you were to meet your past self or change something in the past that shouldn't be changed... It's like when a virus is attacked by antibodies except the antibodies don't know what to target and start attacking your whole body."  
"I'm guessing this isn't just a simile is it... What are these things called?"  
"They're called reapers, there was a time when I could call someone to stop them... But not now."   
"So The lift."  
"Yes the lift... Allonzy!" The Doctor ran straight into the slowly opening, menacing, silver doors, Dean followed hesitantly afterward, finding the small gap rather treacherous. The Doctor turned to Dean with a slight look of concern. "Do you really hunt monsters?"  
"Yes." The Doctor looked deeply at him again. "Yes!" Dean exploded.  
"Fine, I believe you." Dean wasn't convinced The Doctor was.  
There was a moment of silence, Dean opened his mouth to speak, closed it then opened it again. "I'm currently in the middle of preventing the apocalypse, you know, this is the last thing I needed to happen." Dean added in a matter of fact type of way.  
"Really? That's nice." He replied in a day dream.  
Dean stared at him.  
"What?"   
Dean continued to stare.  
"Oh you want to know if you win."  
Dean sighed aggravated, opening his mouth like a teenager would when his parents took forever to understand something.  
"I don't know Dean."  
"What do you mean you don't know?" Dean shouted in a sudden burst of irritation. "  
The lift jolted and Dean leapt  to the edge clutching on to the handrail his knuckles turning white. Dean felt his hands turn clammy, he bit his lip holding back a small scream. The Doctor remained standing in the centre standing idly, his hands behind his back. He stood proudly in the lift, despite the fact only Dean was in there. "You seem to forget, Dean, that you're from a completely different universe from me. Here there is no apocalypse, there is no monsters."  
"I know that!" Dean then spoke softly "But the angels, they say that this thing is destiny... You know and I'm not sure I can fight destiny."  
The Doctor gently placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. It was the same shoulder Cas often rested his hand. "Well the way I view things is completely different, time isn't just a straight line and often things are changed and the universe changes around it, but sometimes there are things called a fixed point which means that they can't be changed or shouldn't otherwise the-"  
"The reapers I get it." His shoulders sagged a little. "So if this thing is a fixed point, there's nothing I can do?"  
"Ah well that's not quite true." The Doctor flashed his teeth, smiling broadly. "For you, this thing is part of your time line and in a way it is moving in a straight line- to you anyway. So whilst it's still playing out the end isn't decided but once you , Cas and your brother make the final moves that's when the fixed point occurs if there is one. Until that point there are multiple possible futures." The Doctor spoke quickly and happily restoring a glimmer of hope in Dean's mind.  
The lift jolted again and the doors opened into a white hallway. Luckily it was empty. In Dean's eyes the hallway was nothing more than what you'd expect in a normal office apartment. The walls were a very pale cream and the floors were that weird plastic vinyl that dented easily but never broke. The harsh white light from the ceiling causes the small plastic sparkles embedded in the floor to shine brightly. However to The Doctor the halls, yes, were originally like this but he could see how Torchwood intricately weaved there technology into the system.   
On each door was a gold box where a card needed to be scanned in order to open the door. They were taken from a crashed spaceship and the simple part of the technology was copied. (at full capacity these things could scan a person and tell almost instantly if it were you, even if it were a clone or some kind of shapeshifter.)  
Along the ceiling, several bright bright lights, but they weren't lights at all. These were hidden cameras and everywhere where the light touched multiple types of scanning coloured. Theoretically if this technology was placed into the sun, the earth, or fifty percent of it, could be placed under permanent observation.  
The Doctor strolled up lazily to one of the key pads and waved the psychic over it. The machine groaned and reluctantly opened, the doors pulling at the cheap flooring.   
"Don't you think that thing is a bit too convenient?" Dean questioned.   
"Don't you think an actual angel is a little too convenient as well?" Perhaps he was but that didn't answer Dean's question. "Look are you getting inside or not because in about.. Ooh... Sixty seconds around thirty armed guards and the head of torchwood are coming round that corner."  
"Okay, okay... Jeez," Dean muttered and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind him giving him instant flashbacks to the lift. He shuddered. "Why are we hiding in a.."  
The Doctor switched on the light.  
"... In a closet?"  
"I didn't know it was a closet... Okay but in twenty seconds my TARDIS is going to land at the end of this corridor where myself and Jackie will be escorted to her office. I'm not exactly sure how to explain to her why there are two me's and a you wandering about too."  
"You have a point, but where exactly is Cas?" Dean demanded in hushed anger.  
"You care about him don't you?"  
"What.. Of course I do he's my friend." Dean huffed.  
The Doctor raised an eyebrow at him.  
"Look can we just drop it, I think I hear footsteps." He didn't but luckily moments later the heavy footsteps of armoured guards could be heard. There was some joyful conversation and then... Clapping. "Why are they clapping?"  
"Because of me.. I believe... I'm not too sure either," he answered honestly. "They're leaving again." When the footsteps died away The Doctor and Dean emerged from the closet. "I mean seriously who puts a lock on a closet?"  
"So Doc? Cas? Where is he?"  
"Well the actual whereabouts of your friend is uncertain, however, the crack in time is, well, in a large white room three doors on our left."  
"What are we waiting for? Let's go!"  
The Doctor placed his arm in front of Dean, blocking his movement. "We can't go in."  
"Why not?"  
"Because that's where I am at the moment." He looked sternly at Dean, "This is where we have an issue. You see in order for us to get into the void, the crack in time needs to be ripped open a little. But! We can't change any of the events that occur. Which therefore means the only chance we have to get your friend out safely is precisely this moment as the second time it opens will be when we leave."  
"So let me get this straight. We only have one chance to free Cas and get out safely. But we can't be seen and even if we do get in we could be trapped in there forever?"  
"Yes. That's pretty much it. Except... Well... Who knows what the void will even do to us?"


	12. Chapter 12

"You know... I don't think this is a very good list," Sam interjected.  
"I'd call you an idiot, but for once I think you're right." Sherlock sighed, running his hands through hair thoughtfully. "You were tracking this thing Sam, there must be something you learned."  
"I only saw it once, but I was so disorientated all I could make out was this grey blob. After that I was chasing a trail of missing person's cases." Sam repeated from earlier.  
"I don't know about you," John said bringing forth a map, "But one thing we can learn about it, is where all the different people went missing from and see where they focus around." He uncapped a red marker and drew in messily a red circle around the spot from the previous night. "Right. We'll start here."  
"Of course!" Sherlock said with glee, crinkles appearing on the corner of his mouth. "It's obvious. These things were clearly trying to make their way back somewhere."  
"And Let's say that maybe by taking these people- It's like energy to them... Food even!" Sam added, understanding that Sherlock's reluctance to accept the unnatural may lead him to ignore the obvious.  
"Right. Yes. Maybe. But the question is... Where are they going and why?" He halted glancing vacantly at the wall. "If their energy is limited then this makes them careless. The trail has to end and they would congregate somewhere- a base of some sort." Sherlock reached and ripped John's laptop from the socket, we need to find a way to gather all the missing person's reports from the last few months, now I could create a formula to do this and-" Sherlock looked up to see Sam's arm outstreached. "What?" He asked dismissively.  
"Give the laptop to me." Sam instructed.  
Sherlock pulled it closer to his body defensively, "Why?"  
"Because me and my brother do this kind of thing all of the time."  
"Sherlock.." Sighed John, "give him the laptop."  
"Fine." He handed over aggressively, slapping the laptop harshly into Sam's palm.  
Sam took it and smiled smugly, he began typing and the smug smile disappeared gradually the more he concentrated. Small frown lines began to show, they were deep but consistent suggesting that they weren't completely due to his age but the repetitive thought process he clearly went through.  
Finally he spoke. "Here, check this out." Spinning the laptop around to face them.  
Sherlock's eyes grew wide, "but that's stupid, impossible."   
"It can't be. There must be some kind of mistake," John breathed.  
"No mistake, whatever these things are, they're at Canary Warf."  
"That's the office building for my bank." Said John.  
***  
"Where are you going?" Castiel's raspy voice called out. "You can't, not again!" He cried. His chest twinged and he buckled inward trying to control the pain. "You're taking too many people!"  
Castiel's grace was weak and he had no energy to heal himself let alone break free. Forcing Dean into an alternative universe almost killed him but when the Lamenta Angel's realised they could use his grace, well, he'd been on the verge of dying for at least three months now. They never left him alone long enough for him to fully recooperate. This may be a form of punishment because Castiel had given Dean something the Lamenta Angels need, they could never get it because it required Dean to be next to him and Dean was somewhere so very far away...  
He missed Dean.. and Sam of course. The thought occurred to him every now and again some Angels would probably go as far as to say he had developed feelings. If they were to speak to him that is. Castiel new that if he were to meet an Angel it would most likely lead to a fight. He had made his choice long ago, when he first laid his hand on Dean's shoulder, destiny changed as quickly as a change in the direction of the wind. And so he became a disgrace to them, but what did God expect when he asked them to love humans more than his brothers, more than God himself, did he want rebellion like Lucifer or that fake obedience so many Angels have. No. When God asked him to love humans, Castiel could look down and understand why.  
So he never regretted betraying Zacheriah and his immature plan to jump start the apocalypse. He needed to protect people and Dean offered the perfect example of denying fate. Something anyone should be proud of. But now these recent events had lead him here with no means of escape and Dean in another universe he could only hope Dean wasn't stupid enough to bring what the Lamenta Angels needed directly to their doorstep...  
***  
"So Doc, you're telling me that Castiel is directly through this door." Dean said a little stunned.  
"Yes, well no, well.. Sort of." He ruffled his hair. "It's highly possible that Castiel is in the void, but I can't be certain, and that's not the point I'm trying to make, look all I know is what I saw and for once that's very little. But what I can't work out is why Castiel is in there in the first place. He'd have to be an immensely powerful being to survive because when I say the void is nothing, I mean it- you could die Dean."  
"I don't care, I've died before and came back and guess who it was who pulled my ass out of hell? It's the least I can do to try and save him. I need to save him." He answered determinedly.  
"I've warned you multiple times about the dangers but you still don't seem to acknowledge them, is it safe to say Castiel is a little more than a friend?"  
"I don't know where you heard that... No... No! Look Cas is important to me that's all. It's one of those things- you can't really label it." Dean was becoming flustered now and a rose coloured blush seemed to defuse across his cheeks, he looked down at the floor trying to pull away from The Doctor's gaze.  
The Doctor sighed eventually, giving up, "Okay we'll leave it at that but I think this situation you find yourself in shows that people like us don't have the time to query on our feelings.." His eyes grew dark again.  
"Well am I safe to assume that this conversation is no longer about me, is this about Rose?"  
"I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, she was gone before I could finish her name," he groaned in pain at the memories as though he was trying to force them from his mind and focus on the task in hand. "Just forget that, look whilst everyone is focused on the big scary crack, we should investigate their gadget room, I'm sure they're bound to have something that could keep us hidden from them."  
"They have a gadget room... Awesome." He grinned playfully.


End file.
